


The Alec Walker Series

by Nanimok



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alex is a Himbo AU, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humour, M/M, mockumentary au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Kinkmeme prompt: Yassen and Alex as pornstars! Crack, serious, AU, undercover mission fic, anything goes. Bonus points for everybody assuming that Alex's real name is just a stage name because. Rider.Really.A cracky mockumentary AU followed the adventures of adult film star Alex Rider.
Relationships: Derek Smithers/Wolf, Helen Rider/Julia Rothman, Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 15
Kudos: 66
Collections: Alex Rider Kinkmeme





	The Alec Walker Series

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, it's just crack. But in mockumentary format because all the bunfriends really enjoyed it last time! All the love to all my bunfriends for the constant love, support and validation in bringing Alec Walker to life ;_;

“So how does it work—the logistics of it all?” Smithers asks. “How do you film a documentary about an explicit subject without showing anything, well, explicit?”

A couple of the crew members shrug or fiddle with their camera equipment while the producer politely clears their throat.

“Oh, are we filming?” Smithers adjusts the orientation with his beret and smiles at the camera. “Yes, where was I? That’s right! Alex Rider and Yassen Gregorovich. We’ve heard great things about Alex, even though he’s quite new to the field. Heard that he can take [beep] like a champ, swallow [beep] like a grapefruit and massive amounts of [beep] while still looking like a twinky angel. He’s even got a cheap porn-star name! The camera just loves that kid.”

* * *

“I figured that it’s about time, since adult movies are like a family business to our family,” Alex says. “My parents met during a porno shoot. My uncle writes scripts for adult movies. I’m studying postgrad at school, and I’m up to my ears in debt. I didn’t want to burden mum with all these things—she has it hard enough as it is, so I thought, ‘Hey! I’ve got the Rider family genes for a fantastic ass! Why not use it to earn a little bit of cash?’ Even though I’m straight, I’m pretty sure I can fake it for the camera.”

Alex emphasises this by patting his own ass fondly.

The scene cuts to Helen Rider sneaking into Alex’s flat. She picks up the pair of jeans thrown over a kitchen chair and slips a fifty-pound note into his pocket.

“Of course, no one takes me seriously anyway,” Alex says. “They all think my last name’s made up! Which—actually, I should have probably not used my real name now that I think about it. Rider is a respectable name in porn! People just won’t stop winking around me when they say it. Unbelievable.”

* * *

“And of course, Yassen is a veteran in the industry,” Smithers says. “Ever since his breakout film in _Russian Whorelette,_ his career’s only been on an upward trajectory. While it’s often that people come—hah, see what I did there?—to these films only caring about the bottom, Yassen has a formidable fanbase behind him. Their chemistry was off the charts in their practice reads. In their work life however… well… they did not get along, until suddenly they did. Everyone would wonder what happens there, but their performance only became spicier on camera.”

* * *

[An excerpt of _Point Blanc (2020)_ with Yassen as Headmaster Greif, and Alex as a mischievous, hapless, and unsuspecting student named Alex Friend.]

Headmaster Greif leans back into his padded leather desk chair. He is dressed in shades of grey and maroon, and he strokes the curls of his moustache as he regards Alex under his stare.

“Alex,” Headmaster Greif says. “Why do you think you are here? What brought you to our school?”

Alex pretends to think. “A helicopter?” he asks, before breaking into snickers.

If Headmaster Greif’s assistant had been in the room, no doubt that Alex would have faced some kind of consequence for it. As such, it’s only the two of them inside Headmaster Greif’s clean, empty, office.

“I see we might need a more traditional approach here,” Headmaster Greif says.

Headmaster Greif stands up. He sweeps his desk clean, chucking all the papers and folders which litter the desktop on the floor.

He brings out a riding crop from under the table.

Alex straightens up his posture. He visibly plays with the sleeves of his yellow jumpsuit.

“You have a lot to learn, Alex,” Headmaster Greif says. “Why don’t you begin by bending over the table for me?”

* * *

“Pranking Yassen was honestly an accident,” Alex says. “So it’s not even a prank! I know Yassen was just hazing me because I’m the newbie, but I just have the worst luck with food.”

Footage cuts to Yassen tying his bathrobe and sitting in his fold-out chair. “Alex,” he calls out.

Alex, who is currently red, flushed and standing from where he’s bent over the filming couch, slides a small pair of red boxers over his pixelated crotch. “Yes?”

“Please bring me a coffee,” Yassen says. “Don’t forget to add an extra splash of milk. No sugar, thank you.”

“Isn’t there anyone else that can do it?” Alex says. “I don’t know—like an intern?”

“No,” Yassen says. “They are busy.”

An intern tries to approach Yassen but cowers under his stare.

Alex and Yassen are locked in a glaring match for a solid minute before red dusts his cheeks.

“Fine,” Alex mutters, and he stomps to the staff room.

Yassen purses his lips, as if holding off a smile, and picks up his phone. Three minutes of silence follows, then—

_Boom!_

The camera zooms into the doorway where Alex runs in a blur of red and yellow twice: the first time by himself, and the second time with a fire extinguisher.

Another cut shows Alex handing Yassen a can of drink.

“What’s this?” Yassen palms the can in his hand until the label faces up. “I’m not a fan of fizzy.”

“Champagne counts are fizzy.”

“I’m not a fan of cheap fizzy,” Yassen corrects. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“This is a truce,” Alex says. “For blowing up your coffee yesterday.”

Yassen raises one eyebrow.

“And the microwave and part of the bench,” Alex adds. “Besides, it’s not really fizzy. It’s gin and tonic.”

“You think I’m the type to drink at work?”

“When Sharkovsky’s on set, yeah.”

“You’re completely right,” Yassen says. He raises the can up. “Cheers.”

The next few seconds is like watching two trains crash in slow motion. Yassen pops open the can opener and a geyser of bubbly sweetness hoses at his face. Alex dives for a towel, dabbing at any spot he can reach, but Yassen’s furious expression says it all—that Yassen has had many things sprayed on his face. None of them, however, has been gin and tonic opened in good faith.

Alex is half-praying and half-begging as he dabs Yassen dry. “I’m so sorry! That wasn’t supposed to happen! Oh [beep] in a [beep] [beep]!”

With one hand, Yassen wipes from his forehead down to his chin. He turns his icy stare at Alex.

“… It was an accident?” Alex tries hopefully.

Yassen stares at Alex for two minutes straight without blinking. He stands up from his seat.

Alex throws himself at the door and shrieks like a banshee.

* * *

“If I had to pin down the moment, things started to change between them,” Smithers says. “I’d have to say, it was when Sharkovsky suddenly retired from the industry.”

Smithers looks over his shoulders. He leans in closer to the camera. “Between you and me, Sharkovsky’s retirement is a blessing in disguise. The man’s odious, but the kind where all the proof seems to mysteriously disappear. Good riddance.”

* * *

Yassen is a man who appreciates the finer things in life. After appropriating an apology basket with a cheeseboard and champagne which straddles the line between luxurious and affordable—shoutout to Helen Rider, from her son—Alex has managed to corner Yassen into agreeing into a ‘truce’ dinner.

“So,” Alex says. “The weather’s nice today.”

Yassen hums as he takes a bite of his steak. He says nothing more, even as Alex blinks hopefully over the table.

“Medium rare, huh?” Alex says. “The steak looks pretty… juicy.”

Yassen tips a drink towards him in a silent ‘Cheers’.

“This reminds me of a joke my friend, Tom, told the other day. He made a steak medium rare for a friend. The friend said, ‘I like it well done.’ So, Tom said, ‘Thanks.’”

Alex holds his breath in anticipation, while Yassen stares at the camera. 

“Oh, come on,” Alex says. “At least tell me if you like the food or not.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Alex asks incredulously. “Because I want to know if you’re enjoying the food or not!”

Yassen considers this statement with a slight tilt of his head. “It’s nice,” Yassen admits, and nothing more.

The camera zooms in as Alex mouths ‘help me’ at the camera while Yassen isn’t watching.

“Okay, I didn’t bring you here just to apologize,” Alex says. “Because I did—but I also have something else. I have this friend. Her name is Kyra, and she’s a whiz with technology.”

Yassen keeps his face polite, but it’s very clear that this is not the first time someone has claimed their friend is a tech whiz only to be proven otherwise.

“No, no,” Alex says. “I’m serious. I know you’ve got _beef_ with Sharkovsky.” Alex grins and waves the steak on his fork.

Yassen carefully puts his knife and fork down. “Oh? Where did you hear that?”

“Ian mentioned it during dinner once.”

“Ian, huh?” Yassen stabs the steak with his knife. “That’s interesting to note.”

Alex waves his fork around again, and Yassen barely dodges the juice splatter. “Don’t worry, everyone knows he’s dodgy. That’s why I’ve got _this.”_

He puts an iPhone on the table.

Yassen doesn’t even need to pick it up. “That’s Sharkovsky’s phone.”

Alex’s face curves until he matches the smug cat meme. “It is.”

“Impressive.” This time, Yassen picks up the phone and swipes the screen. Rows and rows of apps appear. “How did you get it?”

The camera shifts to a handheld following Alex as he shimmies through the window of Sharkovsky’s apartment. He gets stuck for a couple of seconds. Evidently the Rider ass is as much as a curse as it is a gift. Eventually, through a lot of expert wiggling—the kind a breakdancing worm would envy—he lands face first on the floor and rolls himself into a respectable sneaking position.

He bumps a vase as he stands but manages to catch it with both hands. Then, after putting it back where it belongs, Alex ducks and sneaks into the hallway.

“He left it at work,” Alex says. “How careless of him.”

“Careless, indeed,” Yassen says, lifting one eyebrow. “How did you get past the security?”

“Like, I said, my friend Kyra’s a tech whiz.” Alex grins, before leaning in closer to whisper. “The phone is now untraceable. Everything that’s on his account is accessible by this phone, and Sharkovsky can’t lock out this specific phone from his online services either.”

“And this is for me?” Yassen says, a little shocked. “As a truce?

“Yup,” Alex says. “A truce.”

Then Alex holds his hand out on the table for a handshake. Yassen stares at Alex’s hands, then stares at Sharkovsky’s phone, before taking Alex’s hand into his own.

For the first time in the whole afternoon, Yassen’s face breaks into a genuine smile.

* * *

“So that’s the story of how I eventually won Yassen over,” Alex says. “That is also the story of why the whole studio is now under Yassen’s ownership. I don’t know what Sharkovsky had on his phone, or what Yassen said to him to make Sharkovsky give Yassen everything under the sun—on _top_ of disappearing off the face of the earth. But. I definitely prefer Yassen as my boss over Sharkovsky any day. In fact, he’s already guaranteed me roles in future films—if I want them, of course. It’s a relief, to be honest. I was already trying to find roles for my next job.”

* * *

Yassen strides into the interview room without knocking. “No,” he says.

Alex and the interviewer for a rival studio, _MISex,_ swivels in their seats.

“Yassen?” Alex incredulously.

“No,” Yassen says again, before throwing Alex over his shoulder like a potato sack and nodding a goodbye at his colleague. “Good day, Blunt.”

Blinking, Blunt barely has his wits together before he nods at Yassen as well.

Yassen pauses as he adjust Alex’s squirmy weight over his shoulder. He purse his lips and lets himself pat the famed Rider ass once, with fondness, before slamming the door on his way out.

* * *

“I have a feeling that the next movie we’re working on will have some kind of revenge plot—like _‘older boyfriend teaches his cheating partner a lesson’_ or something of the like,” Alex says. “Yassen’s already started coaching me on the lines. Method acting, he said, to get me used to the idea of having an older boyfriend. I mean, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever had one girlfriend in the past. This is all new to me, even if it is for work. We go out on movie dates. I call him babe. He brings me lunch. We’ve even started developing a morning routine together.”

* * *

Yassen takes a sip of his water bottle and indulges himself with some time before answering the question.

“We’re together now,” Yassen says, as he screws the cap on tight. “As for Alex knowing if we’re together…”

Yassen thinks on it. Then, he makes a drawn-out noise as he waves his hand back and forth. “He’ll figure it out,” he says.

* * *

"Oftentimes, Yassen also always has me over to do chemistry reads," Alex says. "They're usually very extensive. I really appreciate how he's helping me out. People are always nervous about hiring a newbie but knowing that I have Yassen's backing will go a long way for my career."

Footage cuts to a handheld outside of Yassen's house. Through the window, the camera zooms in on the candles and rose petals on the bed. There is an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne on the bedside table.

Yassen straightens out the silk sheets and promptly closes the curtain.

Alex nervously fixes the collar of his shirt. He holds flowers in his hands. Then, as he raises his fist to knock, the door swings open. Alex goes in for a handshake, but Yassen pulls him by the waist—into a searing kiss.

The door closes promptly behind them.

"He even lets me stay the night at his place when I get too tired," Alex says. "Which is good because—it’s always straight to work with him. All day and all night. I feel like I’ve sweated more with him than in my gym sessions. He's just.... the best boss I've ever worked with. He even pats me down after, and it’s so soothing that you can’t help but be relaxed and fall asleep. I'm really lucky I got the job."

* * *

“Straight, my ass,” Smithers says.

* * *

[An excerpt of _Holebreaker (2020)_ where Yassen plays Yakov Grinkevich, a hired contract killer, and Alex plays a kidnapped schoolboy named Alec Walker.]

Alec kneels on the rooftop, steeling himself for the inevitable punch of a bullet breaking skin, when there is an explosive _bang_ and Sayle collapses in front of him.

Behind him, a helicopter rises.

Yakov steps onto the roof, careful to keep the gun trained on Alec.

“You shot Sayle,” Alec says, almost in shock.

“Yes,” Yakov says. “He is becoming an embarrassment to my employers.”

“You also shot my uncle.”

“I did.”

“I’m going to kill you for that.”

Yakov raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

He walks closer until the nuzzle of his handgun presses between Alec’s eyes.

“Why should I give you the chance?” Yakov asks. “Why should I let you walk away when I could just pull the trigger…” A click from his handgun. “And end this all…” The nuzzle grinds harder into Alec’s skin. “Right…” Harder. “Now...”

“Because,” Alec says, before saying nothing more.

He takes Yakov’s gun into his mouth.

* * *

Back at Helen Rider’s home, Helen is slathering gel through her short hair. She takes the comb held by her mouth and starts brushing all her hair back.

“I just want to know if Alex is okay,” Helen says. “He keeps things from me because he wants to protect me. That silly boy. He thinks that I’m still hurting over the fact that John gapped on us shortly after he was born, but the fact is, the electricity bill became pounds cheaper and I’ve never looked back. I know how awful and exploitative porn can be if you fall in with the wrong people—I was lucky, you see, I was always working behind the camera. In fact! I even pitched a script to the studio once, and they bought the idea.”

Helen takes a break from combing her hair to hold up a DVD case. The front has two women in lab coats and a hardhat, both holding brushes and a clipboard. The title says, in bold pink, _The Gynaesaur Ages._

“I just worry about him.” Helen sighs into her hands. “Really, the best case scenario is that Alex signed with an ethical studio who will not take advantage of the fact that he’s a young, athletic, and naïve twink with no boundaries, poor impulse control, and a tendency to punch first and ask questions later. Sorry, honey. It’s just the truth. Hopefully, Alex found a studio who will treat him right.”

Then, Helen pulls out a compact and fake moustache from her bag. “How does this look?” She turns her head to the left, then to the right. “Hmm, maybe with the right sideburns… Wait!” Helen clears her throat and lowers her voice. “How does it look now?”

In all honesty, nothing has changed but her voice and the bushy moustache. The production crew assumes that the outfit, as well as the sideburns, will be doing most of the heavy-lifting. Hence, the cameraperson gives a thumbs up, to Helen’s delight.

“Perfect,” Helen says. “You said that Alex’s studio was called _Fer de Lance,_ right?”

* * *

Armed with a pair of binoculars and an e-reader, Helen settles herself on a tree branch across the street from the _Fer de Lance_ adult films studio.

* * *

“What was that?” Alex pushes himself up from the fold-out massage table and squints at the window. “I thought I saw someone in the trees.”

The camera zooms in. Amongst all the leaves, light bounces on Helen’s binocular.

Yassen, who’s lathering oil onto his hands, peeks at the window and shrugs. “Probably a pervert trying to watch the shoot. Don’t worry, we get a lot of those here.”

“Uhm,” Alex says.

“They’ll leave when their lunch break is over,” Yassen reassures him. “Or they’ll fall from the tree and break their necks. They’ll be gone soon.”

“ _Uhm._ ”

Alex’s towel has crumpled low enough for a section of Alex’s patented Rider ass to be completely pixelated. Yassen looks wistful as he fixes the towel. He does, however, let his hand linger on the small of Alex’s lower back.

“Yeah, well,” Alex says. “I don’t like it. Could you close the blinds please? It’s a bit unnerving.”

“Of course,” Yassen says. He sneaks a kiss to Alex’s jaw as he passes by and closes the blinds.

Alex flops forward. “Thanks. I feel so much better.”

“Any time,” Yassen says. “Now, where were we?”

With the blinds closed and the switch turned off, Yassen lights some scented candles around the room. He reapplies the oil on his back and starts working on Alex’s back.

Yassen is methodical and indulgent: within seconds, Alex lets out a moan that surprisingly puts half of the industry’s actors to shame. The production crew wonders if this straddles the line between suggestive features and explicit sexual content a little too much, but Alex only grows louder as Yassen uses his elbows. There is a slight sheen on Alex’s back, highlighting the light layer of back hair coated in oil. Yassen hovers the back of his hand above Alex’s skin, enjoying the play of textures.

“Your hands are— _ahh—_ just magical.”

“If you can still talk, then it’s not magical enough,” Yassen says fondly. “Less talk. More relaxing.”

“I am relaxing! I’m just— _oh my god—ahh!_ ” Like a taut string on the edge of snapping, Alex strains and squirms, before shuddering and melting into the massage table.

The production team wonders if there will be enough towels in the room for the aftermath of such a friendly massage. Their worries are drowned out by the obscene noises Alex is making.

“Thanks for this,” Alex says, closing his eyes. He sighs. “Really. Thanks, Yassen. You’re the best mate a guy could have.”

Yassen only smiles. “I know,” he says.

He sneaks another kiss on Alex’s shoulder blade. 

* * *

[An excerpt of _Skeletwink Key (2020)_ where Alex returns as boy spy Alec Walker, Yassen plays Russian mastermind Alexei Sarov and Wolf plays General Sarov’s right hand man, Conrad.]

Conrad drags Alec from the trunk of a limousine. He kicks the back of Alec’s knees in, until Alec is kneeling.

Sarov shakes his head. “Do you not remember what I told you? If you tried to escape, you would be shot. Conrad thinks me a fool for keeping you. He would rather shoot you dead. Is that what you want?”

Alec keeps his chin stubbornly down, even as Conrad presses a gun to the back of his head.

“I still want you as my son, Alec.” Sarov walks forward and threads his fingers through Alec’s hair. “But I see now that I have been far too lenient on you.”

He grabs Alec’s hair and forces Alec to look up.

“I promised you a whipping, didn’t I?” Sarov says. “Sweet boy. You have no idea how much I will enjoy this. Conrad, spread him out on top of the boot, will you?”

* * *

“I can’t be the only one who finds the way Gregorovich man-handles Alex off-set inappropriate,” Wolf says.

“Don’t worry,” Smithers says, without looking up from his phone. “You’re not the only one.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone done something about it?”

“Because they’re dating is why.”

“What?”

“They’re dating,” Smithers says. “It’s just an excessive amount of PDA.”

“What?” Wolf says again.

“It shocked us too, to know that Yassen has a soft heart.”

“Does Alex know that?”

Wolf points to where Yassen and Alex are walking back towards their fold-out chairs. Alex has his eyes on his phone and tongue sticking out, following Yassen in his wake as his thumbs furiously tap-tap-taps on his phone. Thus, he doesn’t notice how Yassen steers him by his hips, away from his seat and onto Yassen’s lap instead.

Yassen keeps one hand rubbing up and down Alex’s thigh. He offers Alex a bottle of water. “Drink?”

Alex finally peels his eyes away from his phone. “Thanks!” Once Alex has his fill, he sighs, and settles more comfortably into his seat. “That hits the spot.”

Then Alex goes back to his phone game, even as Yassen ropes a hand around his waist and tucks him closer.

“You’re kidding me,” Wolf says. “Alex told me they were just friends.”

“Probably.”

“What?” Wolf asks. “Now, I’m just confused.”

“I mean, he probably did tell you that they were friends. He probably thinks it’s normal for Gregorovich, the most notoriously unsociable man in the whole of England, to kiss him hello on the mouth. We didn’t hire him for his brains, after all.”

Shaking his head, Wolf says, “Next thing you’re going to tell me that Rider’s his actual last name.”

“Oh,” Smithers says. “Haven’t you heard?”

Wolf has to sit down from the news. “Unbelievable. So, Ian…?”

“His uncle.”

“So, his script with the prim uncle named Brian and the naughty nephew named Malek…?”

“Super sus,” Smither says. “Yassen almost blew his top off.”

Footage cuts to Yassen lighting a fire in a barrel. He drops Ian’s script in, along with a cardboard box of Ian’s belongings for good measure. He watches the fire crackle and bun with a blank expression.

The camera zooms in as the flame casts a shadow on his face.

Then, a soft, musical laugh cuts through the busy buzz of the studio crew. All activity stops. Smithers almost drops his phone. Everyone stares at the perpetrator chuckling softly in his seat.

A beat of shocked silence in the room.

Yassen immediately sobers. His face slams into a cold, stern frown. “Yes?” he demands.

Everyone flurries back to work.

Then, Yassen turns back to Alex’s puppy-like, expectant face, and the lines in his mouth softens.

“I’ll be damned,” Smithers says. “Yassen laughed without breaking himself.”

Wolf shakes his head. “Does Alex really think there’s nothing going on between them?”

“Why?” Smithers peeks curiously from over his phone. “Are you interested?”

“No!” Wolf says. “He’s like a brother to me. Well, a brother that I’ve [beep] and [beep] [beep] with a broom handle.”

“Right, you did.” Smithers. “That was a nice touch. I’ve never seen anyone bend that way.”

The production crew can confidently say that they’ve never seen anyone bend that way either.

Wolf smiles and his teeth are absolutely blinding. “Thanks.”

“Say,” Smithers says. “Would you be interested in dinner after this?”

* * *

“I heard that Sharkovsky’s studio is under new ownership,” Julia Rothman says. “I’ve also heard that they’ve been putting out exemplary work. So, I figure that I’d pay a visit. Keep a pulse on the beat on the industry.”

* * *

Julia opens the studio door, smacking a man with a black coat and a bowler hat in the face. The man trips and falls on the floor.

The camera zooms into the moustache pitifully flopping on to the ground.

“Oops. My bad,” Julia says. “Here, sir, let me get your… facial hair?”

“No!” The man squeaks, careful to keep his hat over his eyes. “I mean—no!” he says in a lower voice. “It’s fine.”

He swipes the moustache into his pocket and sprints out the door. The camera zooms into the man’s running back.

Julia raises her eyebrows.

* * *

“That was no man,” Julia says. “I would know those hips anywhere. Now, the real question is: what is Helen Rider doing sneaking out of Sharkovsky’s old studio?”

* * *

[An excerpt of _Eagle Thrust (2020)_ where Alex returns as boy spy Alec Walker thrown into a matador ring by the enigmatic contract killer Yakov Grinkevich.]

Armed with nothing but a red cloth, a black jockstrap, and a matador hat, Alex crouches against the wall as five muscled men advance towards him in a half-circle.

* * *

Alex and Tom are walking out of campus, each holding a cup of coffee in their hands.

“I’m just saying,” Alex says. “Maybe you should consider pitching a script at Yassen or two. It’ll be good experience.”

“I appreciate it, I really do,” Tom says. “But I honestly think we come from two different worlds in terms of filmmaking. Besides, the goal is to be a director or cinematographer.”

“But I’ve seen you writing,” Alex says. “What if you add a quick [beep]ing scene to one of your stories? We can probably take it from there.”

“Nope. Not happening.”

“A threesome?”

“No.”

“An orgy?”

“What?”

“A gangbang!”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Nope,” Alex says, a wealth of experience behind his voice. “They are definitely not the same thing.”

“Aw, gross,” Tom says. “I do not want to imagine you and your sugar daddy like that!”

Alex instantly turns red. “He is not my sugar daddy!”

Tom ignores him. “Plus, the goal is to be a film director or a cinematographer. Either or. I’m not fussed.”

“He’s not my sugar daddy,” Alex says again. “Different people have different boundaries for their unique types of friendships. Yassen and I are just particularly close. We hang out. We have fun. He’s just teaching me a lot of things, you know?”

“Mate, you and I are close,” Tom says. “You and Yassen are about to put a down payment for a house so that you can start putting down roots for an early retirement.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t buy a house with me?” Alex asks, despite the red sprinkling his cheeks. “Frankly, I’m hurt.”

“Of course, I would. Once I sell a couple of body parts for the money.”

Alex snorts into his coffee. “Bold of you to assume that a couple of body parts would be worth as much as a house in this economy,” he says after sipping. “Besides, Yassen already owns his own place.”

“Does he now?”

“He has this crazy big and ridiculously comfy hybrid mattress,” Alex says, stretching one arm over his head in an admirable impression of a well-rested cat. “And a mountain of luxury pillows you can sink yourself in. I can’t help but roll around in my sleep. It’s just so soft.”

“… Right. In your sleepovers.”

“Yup.”

“Your very friendly sleepovers,” Tom mutters under his breath.

Alex waves to a distant figure instead of replying. Dressed in a black shirt and a pair of denim, it is the man himself, Yassen Gregorovich.

Yassen’s presence is a long, lean line that exudes an air of pristine lethality. Yet, his face visibly softens as Alex approaches. He takes Alex’s chin in one hand and pulls him into a kiss. Not the kind of kiss that is at all appropriate for the general audience, no. The kind of kiss that will bring a plethora of angry parents on the cinema’s doorstep if the documentary was licenced at any age under twenty-one.

Tom looks painfully at the camera.

Yassen’s kiss is long and languorous, an exercise in indulgence and control all rolled into one. Alex only presses himself closer as the kiss grows deeper, and the raw power of Alex’s enthusiasm is tamed under Yassen’s firm handling.

“Hmm,” Yassen says, eyes half-lidded once he pulls away. “Butterscotch. Very sweet.”

Alex can’t help a smile breaking out. “You don’t like sweet.”

“I’m learning,” Yassen says. “Does your friend need a ride?”

It takes a while for Tom to realise that the attention is back on him. “Oh, no!” Tom says. “I’m fine. It’s a short walk from here.”

Alex slants his mouth. “If you’re sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Tom says, spying how Yassen’s hands only seem to travel lower and lower on Alex’s back. “Have fun. Uhm. At work.”

“We will,” Yassen says.

“Bye, Tom,” Alex says, unaware of hands pawing at him.

Tom flees the scene just as Yassen squeezes a plush handful of Alex’s ass.

* * *

"I've had to adapt since the latest debacles," Helen says. "I couldn’t see much from the tree other than the shot Alex was shooting that day—you know, the classic ‘handsy massage’ scene, so I tried sneaking in with the documentary production crew. Thank you for that, by the way. That didn’t turn out quite so well. Turns out it’s easy to lose a moustache when you’re nervous. So, no more moustache and bowler hat. We're going for a more natural route."

Helen shows the goatee and the baseball cap to the camera. The cap is black with the word '#boss' stitched at the front.

“How do I have so much time on my hands?” Helen repeats. “Well, the answer’s easy enough: I was already planning to take out annual leave sometime this year. I’ve got a month’s worth to spend. As for knowing Julia Rothman…” She purses her lips. “We knew each other back in the day. were friends. We were even best friends, you could say… But things happen and the past is the past. No hard feelings.”

She looks down at her lap and frowns, before shaking herself out of her stupor.

“That’s how I knew Yassen too,” Helen says. “He and John used to frequently do scenes together, and we’ve always been on good terms. Honestly, I’m glad that Alex has found himself a mentor who would really look after him—”

A production crew member, in the middle of their lunch, slips and drops their on lunch on their poor, unsuspecting shirt.

“—and finally, for how I’m getting all these clothes and access card? I just borrowed it from Ian, of course.” Helen waves her hand and smiles. “I’m sure he won’t notice a thing.”

* * *

Ian walks into his office and pauses at the doorway.

Between Yassen and Helen, his whole office is blank.

* * *

[An excerpt of _Scorpianal (2020)_ where Alex plays boy spy Alec Walker in disguise, and Yassen returns as contract killer Yakov Grinkevich attending a luxurious party.]

Alec Walker wades through a sea of masked faces. He wears nothing but a mask, a sheer thin harem pants, a sleeveless vest with no shirt underneath, and gold body paint slathered all over his torso. Around them, people begin to take off their mask as they nibble on appetisers. The clientele is undeniably on the affluent range. It won’t be long before they realise that Alec is flubbing like a fish out of water. Alec ducks his head, keeping an eye out for the elusive Mrs. Rudman while dodging the curious stares thrown his way. It feels a little like walking into a Lion’s den while draped in some meat pants.

All of a sudden, a hand snakes through his waist. Heat trails after as the hand slides lower, spreading over his lower belly and dipping into the waistband of his pants.

A puff of hot air under his ear. The nose that brushes over the shell of his ear is half-covered by a mask.

“Hello, little Alec,” Yakov says. “You will be quiet and follow me, or you will take a swim in the canal. Which one do you prefer?”

Alec doesn’t think the swimming is of the leisure variety. “How am I supposed to follow you when you’re behind me?” he says instead. “You’re already doing a pretty bad job at this.”

Yakov muffles a low rumble of laugh into his skin. “Ah, that clever mouth,” he says. “How I’ve missed it.” The hand inside his waistband sneaks out and settles on his hips. Yakov presses him forward. “Move.”

Yakov leads Alec up the spiral staircase, through several marble floored hallways and off-shoot doors. Alec tries to keep note of his direction, but it’s easy to get disorientated. All the rooms are near identical in furniture and decoration. He gives up after a while, once Yakov ushers him into a luxurious sitting room.

There is a gold framed mirror hanging above an antique table. There is fireplace crackling warmth to their right, and a lush, thick, fluffy rug in front of them.

Yakov’s hands slides to his shoulder. He presses until Alec is kneeling on the rug. Behind him is the sound of a belt unbuckling.

It occurs to Alec, in that moment, that he walked out of the Lion’s den only to fall prey to a ravenous tiger.

* * *

“So Yassen’s been working on some directing projects, and I’ve been showing my support for him wherever I can,” Alex says. “Yassen says that having me there helps him think. I can do that. I’m happy to help.”

Footage cuts to Alex bringing Yassen lunch and coffee at work, Alex combing his hand through Yassen’s hair in his lap while Yassen regards the scripts in his hand, and Alex massaging Yassen’s back as Yassen hums under his fingers.

There’s also Alex sitting in Yassen’s lap as he sits in the director’s seat. Alex is shirtless. Yassen’s hands is happily spread on his lower belly.

“Smithers,” Yassen scolds.

Smithers jolts guiltily and triple zooms out from Wolf’s pixelated crotch.

Yassen sighs. “People can be so unprofessional sometimes,” he mutters.

Smithers looks almost indignant as the camera zooms on Yassen’s hand, playing with the hairs trailing low on Alex’s belly.

The scene then cuts to Yassen and Alex cuddling on Yassen’s office couch.

“I’m working late tonight,” Yassen says. “Don’t wait up.”

“Oh,” Alex says, wilting. “Okay. I thought we were checking out the new Croatian place across the road.”

Yassen kisses the side of Alex’s head. “Ah. Apologies. I completely forgot. Rain check?”

“Alright.” Alex loops his arm around Yassen’s neck. “Are you meeting with Mrs. Rothman tonight?”

“I am,” Yassen says, hand patting mindlessly on Alex’s hip. “She expresses her admiration for my work with Sharkovsky.”

“Do you mean _Russian Whorelette_ and _White Fornications?_ ”

“No.” An innocent smile curves on Yassen’s face. “My other work with Sharkovsky.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “ _Oh._ That kind of work. Are you being hired to…” Alex flails in some wild hand gestures.

Yassen laughs and shakes his head. “No. She also mentioned that the Alec Walker series has a good chance of winning a Prowler award this year.”

Alex almost bumps Yassen’s chin when he straightens from his seat. “Really?!”

“Yes. Really. She is interested in helping me produce.”

“Are you going to take up on her offer?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Yassen says. “Having a couple of awards under her belt is definitely promising.”

“You should,” Alex says, nudging him. “And then we can have Croatian to celebrate.”

Amused, Yassen asks, “Do you miss me already?”

“No,” Alex says, while pouting.

Two knocks before Ian opens the door. “Hey, Yassen. Have you seen my hat anywhere—”

“Not now, Ian.”

“Okay,” Ian says, before closing the door.

Alex covers a snort with his hand. “Ian is so funny. He can be so oblivious at times.”

“He knows better than to interrupt me during our tutoring slot,” Yassen says, before kissing Alex on the cheek.

* * *

Newly hired producer Julia Rothman sneak behind a man crouched under a set-piece.

“Helen Rider,” Julia says. “I’m happy to see that horrid moustache gone.”

Stiffening, Helen Rider rises from her crouch, and checks that her goatee is still plastered on her face.

“Julia,” Helen says. “It’s… nice to see you. I guess.”

Julia crosses her arms and scowls. “I guess?”

Helen shrugs. “Yes, I guess.”

“How’s your boy doing?” Julia says. “Gregorovich seems quite keen on him.”

At the mention of Alex, Helen can’t help puffing out her chest in pride. “He’s doing well. Not short on job offers, that’s for sure.”

Julia smiles, a flash of white between dark red lips. “He’s a lucrative lad. You’re lucky to have him.” She clears her throat and straightens the wrinkles on her blazer. “What about yourself? You’ve been doing well?”

“I’m fine, I suppose,” Helen says. “Look, Julia. Can we not do this right now?”

“No, actually,” Julia says. “If we don’t do this now, then you’ll disappear, and I won’t see you for years again.”

“Really.” Helen puts her hands on her hips. “You’re accusing _me_ of disappearing for _years_ when I’m not the one who—” Taking a deep breath, Helen steps back. “You know what? I don’t want to start.”

“Do continue.” Julia taps a finger on her crossed arm. “I would so love to hear it.”

“Are you being sarcastic at me right now?”

Ian passes by and he nods. “Ladies.” Then, he pauses and backtracks a couple of steps. “Hey, Helen. Isn’t that my—”

Helen doesn’t look away. “Not now, Ian.”

Ian takes one look at the stare-off. “Okay,” he says, before scurrying away.

Julia opens her hands, palm up. “Go ahead, Helen. I know you have a lot to say.”

“I do,” Helen says. “But I’m not the one who blocked me off the face of the earth all of a sudden. No, not all of a sudden—just because I started dating _John,_ wasn’t it? You didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself. Not even after all the messages I sent you. So, no, Julia. That’s all you get after all these years.”

Julia winces, the expression seems out of place with her carefully cultivated and made up look. “Fine. That’s fair. I deserve that.”

Shoulders tight and drawn for a fight, Helen almost loses her footing. “Oh. Wait. Really?”

A wry smile crosses Julia’s face. “Yes, really. I’ve grown a lot in these last couple of years.” Her face fall into a sombre expression. “It really wasn’t you, Helen. I had some stuff going on and I wasn’t fair to you back then. I’m sorry. I’ve really missed you.” The lines in her eyes visibly softens. “Believe me when I say that you’ve rarely left my mind all these years.”

“I don’t understand how you can—” Helen’s shoulder wilts. “—how you can just say all that!”

Julia grins. “Like I said, I’ve grown. I know I still have a long way till forgiveness, but if you give me the chance, maybe I can start with coffee? If you’re free?” Julia says. “Or maybe even dinner?”

“I’m not sure…”

“It’ll be my treat,” Julia says. “I’ve missed hearing about your day.”

And just like that, Helen melts like an ice cream under the summer sun. “I’ve missed you too,” Helen says sincerely. “And I suppose I have all this free time now that I’ve seen for myself that Alex is doing well in his studio. And that having Yassen as his boyfriend means that he’s being doubly looked after.”

“Gregorovich has already met the parent, then?”

“No,” Helen says. “But it’s hard to ignore when Alex and Yassen bids each other goodbye by sucking face for a good half-hour.”

“God, I wish that was us,” Julia mutters under her breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“God, people are just so shameless these days,” Julia says smoothly. “So, lunch?”

Helen beams. “I would love some lunch. Thank you!”

* * *

“When John and Helen started dating, it wasn’t the John part that bothered me, even though he was my ex,” Julia says. “No, it wasn’t the John part at all. I had a lot of things to work out. I’m glad things are finally starting to fall into place now.”

Camera cuts to Julia opening the door of her car for Helen to step in.

Helen smiles at her in gratitude. She ducks and shifts her ‘#boss’ hat so that it covers the red dusting her cheeks.

* * *

“—I was just rehearsing the speech for if we win the Prowler awards, and Tom and Sabina burst into laughter at the part where I said that I was straight!” Alex scowls. “Can you believe that?”

Propped up in bed beside him, reading glasses on his nose and a tablet on his lap, Yassen hums in sympathy.

Folding his arms, Alex leans into his shoulder, sniffling for Yassen’s attention. “My friends are so mean. I don’t know why I keep them around.” He noses his sulky way into Yassen’s neck and pouts.

“Yes, yes. Very mean, indeed,” Yassen says. “Sweetheart, would you do me a favour? Would you read this bit and tell me what you think?”

Alex lets out an humph and slides down the bed. He sneaks his arms around Yassen’s waist and snuggles into Yassen’s side. “Sure.”

Yassen’s hand automatically starts playing with Alex’s hair. He gives Alex a couple of minutes to read before he asks, “So?”

“Not bad,” Alex says. “Can’t believe Alec’s going to get [beep] in space though. I wonder how we’re going to film that.”

“Yes,” Yassen says, pursing his lips. “Exactly my thinking.”

“Can you rewrite that part?”

“I would rather not, in all honesty,” Yassen admits. “People come to the Alec Walker series for the grandeur missions and whacky adventures. Well, that and the [beep]ing, of course.”

Alex gasps. “No way. Alec’s getting [beep] with a [beep] in a go-kart? That looks fun.”

Yassen grimaces. “And expensive.”

“Is Yakov going to be there?” Alex says. “Everyone knows that people only watch to see Yakov as well.”

Yassen considers it before nodding. “Good idea. I’ll make a note of it in the script.”

“You know,” Alex says. “For such a smart kid, Alec can be a bit of a dummy. He has, like, zero self-preservation skills, he just jumps into crazy situations without thinking, and he always falls for MI6’s blatant lying.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t do the same? If you were a boy spy like him?”

“Heck, no,” Alex says. “I bet I’ll be better at blending in.”

“If you say so.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that,” Yassen says, hiding his mirth.

“I’m a way better actor than Alec!” Alex says. “Just today, Ian asked me if I knew where his chair went, and I had to act all surprised and unknowing and pretend like we didn’t use it to [beep] in your office last week. He believed me too!”

The production crew notices how Yassen diplomatically doesn’t mention that a white elephant could claim itself as furniture under Ian’s watch. Or that the trait seems to be genetic in the Rider family.

“Okay,” Yassen says, simply.

“I’ll remember that,” Alex says, burying his head deeper into Yassen’s skin. “I’d like to think that I’d be smarter than him. Man, it’s a good thing Alec is pretty.”

Silence in the room as Yassen looks at the camera over the top of his glasses.

“I bet Yakov would look really good in glasses too,” Alex says. “You should make Yakov wear glasses as part of his disguise.”

Yassen chuckles. “I’ll see if I can put it in. For you.”

The camera zooms in as he kisses the top of Alex’s head.

* * *

The final realisation happens during the filming of one of Yassen’s pet projects. Alex is seated on his usual spot on Yassen’s lap with Yassen’s hand finding its home on his thigh. This time, however, he’s got a textbook open and he’s sipping on a bottle of coke.

It’s very clear that Yassen is a simple, practical man with a taste for the luxurious. He has rebuffed Alex’s offer of his coke at every instance, deeming it too sweet and artificial to his tastes. That is, every instance except for this one.

Almost mindlessly, Alex offers Yassen a sip of his coke. Yassen peers at the bottle for a good second, before taking a sip and scrunching his nose in disgust.

Alex’s eyes almost boggle out of their sockets.

His cheeks are dusted red.

* * *

Alex opens his mouth. He closes it. He opens it again.

“Am I in love with Yassen?” Alex asks.

* * *

[An excerpt of _Fuck Angel (2020)_ where Alec Walker accompanies the billionaire Drevin family to New York City in their adventures of establishing the first outer space hotel.]

In a bright-white, sterile room, Alec Walker is left waiting in solitude. He is cuffed to the table in front of him, shirtless and pant-less, left only in his tight, bright red booty shorts. The immigration officer had claimed that his passport had expired, and that it would only take but a moment to renew them. But that was ten minutes ago, and the air has gone chilly. Alec is contemplating breaking his thumb to escape from his cuffs, when a familiar lean figure enters through the door.

“Little Alec Walker,” Yakov says. “You are very far from home.”

Alec jolts from his seat, but his cuffed arms yank him back on the table. “What are you doing here?” He spies Yakov’s immigration officer uniform. “Did you rig my passport?” He struggles against the handcuffs. “Give me my clothes back!” 

Yakov has his hair slicked back, with a pair of glasses on his nose. Coupled with his uniform, he looks very official indeed. “I believe that was all you, dear Alec. I was only sent here to pat you down.”

“Pat me down?”

Yakov brings out a set of latex gloves from his packet. “Yes, pat you down. Make sure you aren’t hiding anything inside that tight body of yours.” The gloves make an audible slap against his palms.

“You’re not seriously going to shove your fingers up my ass are you?” Alec asks incredulously.

“Oh, I’m serious,” Yakov says. He wiggles his fingers for emphasis. “You do not want to make the Drevin family wait any longer, don’t you?”

Alec grumbles, but eventually, and slowly, he bends over and spread his legs wide.

His booty shorts strain against the base of the plug under his pants.

Yakov smiles, rubbing lube all over his hands. “I thought so.”

* * *

Helen tightens her bathrobe as she opens the door. “Honey,” Helen says. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

Alex scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, I should’ve given you a heads up.”

“Nonsense,” Helen says. “You’re always welcomed here.”

Alex seems on the verge of saying something more, but he fidgets. That’s all Helen needs. She ushers Alex in, tucks a blanket around his shoulders, whips up her famous hot cocoa, and sits him down on the couch for a good advice session.

Behind Helen and Alex, and with her own matching bath robe set, Julia walks into the room carrying two champagne flutes and a cold bottle of Moet. She promptly turns around without notice.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong?”

“No—nothing’s wrong! Why,” Alex picks at the blanket, “why do you ask?”

“Well,” Helen says. “You’re dawdling nervously on the couch when you’re usually staying at Yassen’s by now.”

Alex would also be messaging and sending pictures in their family chat during his stay. That’s how Helen usually keeps up with these things.

Alex immediately does his best tomato impression. “About Yassen...”

“Oh?” Helen gently prompts.

“I think I love him,” Alex blurts out. “I think we’ve been dating all this time, and I’m in love with him.”

Helen blinks. Inch by inch, her eyebrows raise higher on her forehead. There’s a minute of silence as Alex squirms under her stare.

“Please say something. I’m getting nervous,” Alex says.

“Oh, honey…” Helen says. “Have you really only realised that just now? I thought you were just too nervous to tell me that you had a boyfriend.”

“Yes!” Alex shakes his head. “I thought we were just friends!”

“He kissed you when he dropped you off for lunch the other day,” Helen says. “Right in front of me.” 

“I thought that was just Yassen being his usual self.” Alex fidgets with his fingers. “He’s a really affectionate guy. He’s always hugging and kissing his friends like that, so I thought it was no big deal…”

* * *

_Footage not found._

* * *

“He’s real softie at heart,” Alex goes on. “He’s the kind who wears his feelings on his sleeves. You know how he is!”

By the way Helen’s eyebrows are contorting, it is very clear that she does know how Yassen is.

A room away, Julia looks at the camera incredulously. ‘Affectionate,’ she mouths.

Footage cuts to photos of Yassen Gregorovich throughout the years, from the ages of two, four, eight, fourteen, twenty and twenty-six. In every single instance, he is staring at the camera with his mouth set in a straight line and a blank look on his face.

“And all those times he took you out to dinner?” Helen asks. “Or all those lunch dates, or day trips—the chemistry reads that has you staying overnight so that he can make you breakfast in the morning?”

If it’s even possible, Alex grows even redder.

“Sweetie,” Helen says.

Puffing his cheeks out, Alex cites, “Different people have different boundaries for their unique types of friendships—”

She pats his cheek. “Sweetie,” Helen says again, a little louder. “It’s such a good thing you’re cute.”

Alex groans and sticks his bottom lip out. “All my brain went into my Rider patented ass.”

As usual, Alex can’t help giving a dejected, but still proud, pat on his ass.

“That it did,” Helen says fondly.

* * *

“Mum told me to tell Yassen when I’m ready,” Alex says to the camera, outside the restaurant. “But I feel like if I don’t tell him any minute now, I’m going to explode. So, I thought I would tell him while we’re in the same restaurant I took him to when he first warmed up to me. The one with the really nice sirloin.”

Similar to the first time they dined at the restaurant, Yassen and Alex sit across from each other on a candlelit table. This time, however, Yassen reaches a hand over and twines their fingers together. His thumb rubs small, soothing, inquiring circles over the ridges of Alex’s knuckles.

“You seem nervous today,” Yassen says. “Anything I can do to help?”

Alex has dressed up in a nice suit for this event, complete with a luxurious silk tie—courtesy of Ian, although without his knowledge. He flashes Yassen a hesitant smile before clearing his throat.

“I guess, that’s the right word,” Alex says. “Nervous, that is. I don’t know… I’m thinking about… doing something I’ve not done before…”

Yassen gives an encouraging hum. “Oh?”

“I’m worried…” Alex scrounges up a nervous smile at Yassen. “Logically, I know that nothing will go wrong, but for some reason, it hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Very vague.”

Alex scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, sorry. I’m still thinking about it.”

Yassen bring Alex’s hand up so that he could kiss his knuckles. “Don’t be sorry. If it helps, I like to talk myself through the situation and make a plan for the worst-case scenario.”

“Really?” Alex asks, playing with the food on his plate. “I can’t imagine you being nervous about anything.”

“I was young too once.” Yassen rubs his chin with one hand. “I remember being timid, at my first shoot, but it's something you quickly grow out of. In this industry, you either retire a twink, or work long enough to see yourself become the daddy dom."

Alex is boggling. "You? As the twink in the videos? I guess I can imagine you being quite lean and small when you were younger."

Yassen's smiles turns sly. "Does that appeal to you?"

"I—uh, well, of course!" Flustering, Alex flails his hands. "Uhm. Did you have a mentor as well?"

The predatory glint in Yassen's eyes lessens but doesn't quite completely leave his eyes. "I did, actually," Yassen says. "This ties in nicely with what we're talking about."

"About your first time doing a scene?"

"About my mentor," Yassen says. "He's an... interesting man. He had a very big impact on my life. I fancied myself in love with him for the longest time."

The fork on Alex's plate slips with a screech across his plate. The hand in Yassen's hold seem to tense beyond belief.

Yassen clamps his fingers down, of course. "In hindsight, it was just a phase of intense infatuation. Maybe it could have formed into love, given time to develop, but that was not the case. It's even more clear these days, now that I have a better frame of reference in my life. But I digress. That was not the point of the story."

A line forms between Alex's eyebrows. "That wasn't?"

"No, the point is that back then, I was weighing the pros and cons of confessing my infatuation to my mentor. My thoughts went as such: the worst-case scenario is that I would be rejected, and I would lose a mentor, as well as a friend. I would somehow lose my whole career in the process and be forced to live on the streets again."

"Jesus, what a piece of work," Alex says, before his eyes widen. "And again? What do you mean again?"

Waving his hand, Yassen shakes his head. "A story for another time. I was, of course, exaggerating. He was a train-wreck of a human, but he wasn't a vindictive one."

"That's good to know."

"After preparing myself for that, anything seemed like an improvement," Yassen says. "In fact, when I did inevitably get rejected, it was almost a relief. There was no longer a weight on my shoulder. Now that I’m forced to do it, I can finally process a future without him."

"Must be a fool to reject someone as wonderful as you," Alex mutters.

A soft laugh breaks out from Yassen. His eyes crease at the corner. "I can't really argue with the happenstance," Yassen says. "In fact, I'm quite a fond of the proceeding events."

Before Alex could follow up with a question, a hand falls on his shoulder. A hand that is rough, calloused, and belongs to a man who has a remarkable resemblance to Alex.

"You both look quite cosy."

Yassen jolts in his seat, from a voice he hasn't heard in eons. His face slams into his usual stone-cold expression. Alex, rooted in his seat, only stares at the man who slides a chair right beside him.

John Rider sneaks a piece of fry off his son's plate.

Both Yassen and Alex stare at him.

"What?" John says, while chewing. "A bit sombre round here. What's the occasion? You both are looking a little too serious for my liking."

* * *

An inexorably guilty Alex Rider hides in the bathroom stall. "I never told mum that dad start emailing me when I was eighteen asking for money," Alex whispers. "I just—I didn't want to worry her! She was already stressed enough about my college loans and me moving out back then. As far as she's concerned, I never knew that John existed in this world!"

The next-door stall flushes and Alex zips his mouth until the patron has inevitably left the bathroom.

"We had a deal," Alex says. "I would send him some money once and a while, and he'd leave mum alone. What the hell is he doing around here? It's fine, it's fine. I'll just... pretend I've never met him before."

* * *

It took a moment for Alex to shake out of his stupor. "Excuse me," he says, a bit loudly. "Who are you, strange man I've never met before? What are you doing here?"

A beat of silence on their table.

John raises an eyebrow. "Just visiting my good friend Yas over there." He takes a sip from Alex's wine glass. "And who might you be, kiddo? Cheers, by the way."

"Alex," Alex says. "I'm Alex Rider. A completely inconspicuous name for an inconspicuous person like me. Alex. Alex Rider."

Another moment of silent falls once more, only to be broken by John's noisy sipping.

* * *

"I think I nailed it," Alex says.

* * *

Yassen has a pained expression as he looks into the camera.

* * *

“My brother’s always been a bit of a strong character,” Ian says. “The life of a party, everyone would say. He would have probably thrown the party, to be honest, and ditched before things became hairy and the boys in blue came knocking. Mum reckoned he would’ve been a great spy. I reckoned he was just a great liar. Anyhow, he’s a bit of a disaster but him coming back explains why all my furniture keeps going missing. With John around, I think it’s time I try and repossess some of my own furniture in the process.”

* * *

Outside the restaurant, Yassen pulls Alex aside and tugs him in by his waist. “Alex,” he says. “You know you don’t owe that man anything? Being your father means nothing when he hasn’t been present almost all your life.”

Before Alex could open his mouth, John honks the horn of his car and opens the passenger seat door with his leg.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Alex says. “I still want to keep an eye on him though. I don’t want him bothering mum. I’ve already bugged her date with Mrs. Rothman last night by accident.”

The camera crew is slightly impressed, because Alex hadn’t given any indication that he noticed Julia in the house. From his previous performance, it’s very much obvious that Alex should stick with his current job if he wants to be in front of a camera.

“That’s an admirable cause,” Yassen says. “But I may have an offer which might tempt you.”

“Which is?”

“Drop him off in the jail cell and come home with me,” Yassen says. “We can watch a movie while settling down in bed. Detective Pikachu is out on blu-ray. You’ve been telling me how much you want to see it. We can even brainstorm the liberties we can take with that kind of film for _Fer de Lance_.”

Alex sticks his bottom lip out. “Yassen...”

“Or he can stay in my guest room. Then we can both watch him together.” Yassen squeezes his waist and kisses his eyebrow. “You don’t have to watch him alone.”

“Tempting,” Alex admits, leaning in and angling his head down. “I don’t want to burden you with him. He might, like, steal your kitchenware or something.”

“I can lock him in the basement.”

Alex laughs. “I have good memories in that basement. I don’t want to taint it.” He leans into Yassen. “How about I think on it tonight? Let’s see how this father-son bonding goes first. If it’s disastrous, I’ll let you know.” Alex leans over and steals a kiss on the corner of Yassen’s chin. “I’ll message you?”

A line forms in one corner of Yassen’s mouth. It matches the frown lines on his forehead, so Alex doesn’t stop himself from smoothing it down with his thumb. Yassen’s eyes are flicking up and down Alex’s face. One sign of hesitation, and Yassen would sink his teeth into the back of Alex’s neck and drag him home like a wayward kitten if he has to.

“Alright,” Yassen finally concedes. But he does guide Alex by the chin, pressing their lips in a tender kiss.

A sharp honk breaks their best attempt at exchanging tonsils, and Yassen glares at the car.

John only grins and waves from his seat.

Sighing, Alex slumps as he trudges into the car. He gives Yassen one more hesitant smile as the car pulls out of the parking lot. Yassen tucks his hand into his pocket, refraining himself from kicking John from the front seat, even as Alex looks back through the rear-view mirror.

Once the car has disappeared down the street, Yassen brings a phone up to his ear. “He’s back,” he says, without introduction. “How soon are you free? I want him gone as early as possible.”

* * *

“Alex,” Helen says, as she opens his front door. “Did you forget about our lunch date again—”

She pauses as a distinctly non-Alex-shaped lump on the couch rustles under a mountain of blankets. A much harrier, wrinkled version of Alex, with streaks of grey hair on his blond head, and a snore that could rattle the whole city if left unfiltered by the blankets.

“Aw, [beep],” Helen says, when the snore dies into a yawn.

* * *

Helen ducks her head. “I… haven’t been as honest with Alex about his dad as I probably could have... You see, I know what John's like and I didn't want him to just jump in and out of Alex's life whenever it suits him. Alex is such a soft boy; he just gets attached way too easily. Especially back when he was younger. He cried for a whole week when our home-stay Jack finished her degree and had to go back home to America."

A member of the production crew raises their hand. "Was he quite young when she left?"

"No, he was sixteen," Helen says. "But he's still such a sensitive boy. Jack still messages us once and a while. She still sends us postcards every year too."

Helen holds up a postcard. Their home-stay Jack is dressed up in a red suit and makeshift white beard, holding up a sign that says ‘miss you guys xx’ along with a heart emoji.

"Anyhow," Helen says. "To make sure that John stayed away... I might have paid him off whenever he came asking for money... I thought that would have been enough for him to leave Alex alone." She sighs and pats her cheek. “Oh dear.” 

* * *

John's messy head pops up from under the blankets. Helen despises how effortless John's smile can still be, making bed-hair much more charming that it deserves to be, on top of wearing it on a face that's much too familiar to her son—which, to be honest—is probably his only redeeming features.

"Helen, dear," John says. "How are you?"

"Don't call me dear."

"Sour as always I suppose." John sticks his bottom lips out. "I thought our son's recent successes would have mellowed you out a bit."

"Why are you here?" Helen demands. "What? Did Hollywood fall through for you. Was Silicon Valley sick of your [beep] too?"

Shrugging, John sits up on the couch, combing his hair with his hand. “Not quite.”

“I’m guessing your thirty seconds in the limelight has come and gone?”

“The saying is fifteen minutes, love.”

“Only if you can last that long,” Helen mutters.

"So cruel,” John whines. “Nothing else to say after I've stayed away after all these years?"

"If you did what we've agreed to, you wouldn't be here with Alex."

"See, that's the funny thing," John says. "I was just visiting my good friend Yas—”

“Oh, he would’ve enjoyed that, I bet.”

John ignores her. “I was visiting my good friend Yas when the most amazing thing happened! Not only did the plumbee become the plumber in this case, but his new up-and-coming co-star happens to be my long, lost son. The coincidence! The absolute coincidence! Makes you wonder why I’ve kept away all these years, huh? I wonder how Alex would react if he knew…”

Helen fumes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Just an idea I’m putting out in the world.” John spreads his arms over the couch. “An idea that could easily be forgotten… if my stomach was filled with some food, perhaps.”

Before Helen could do anything more than grind her teeth, Alex skitters into the room by his socks.

“Mum!” Alex says. “This is a surprise! Did I miss lunch? Sorry about that. Guess who I found.” His eyes zips back and forth. “Out of the blue. For the first time in my life!”

Helen’s face puckers like she’s sucked the world’s sourest lemon. “Yes,” she says. “How nice to see you. After more than… twenty years and nothing less…”

“Yup,” Alex says. “A family reunion.”

“For the first time ever.”

“Yup,” Alex says again.

“How…” Helen searches for the word. “Jolly…”

John looks between Alex and Helen, avoiding each other’s eyes, and he slowly grins.

* * *

[An excerpt of _Cockhead (2020)_ where boy spy Alec Walker lands himself imprisoned in a hospital as an organ donor following the betrayal of his godfather.]

The air of the hospital is grim. On a hospital bed lies Alec Walker, arms strapped to his side, and legs tied down in stirrups. Even his forehead is strapped. That, at least, has stopped the back of his head from fully straining itself. Sweat has dropped and dried on his hospital gown. The thought of losing his body, piece by piece, until he was nothing but a hollow shell, only fuels the struggle against his binds. But no matter how hard he fights; his restraints stay budged. His own ready-made, body moulded coffin.

Immersed in his own struggles, Alec doesn’t hear the soft footsteps of someone entering the room.

“How is it that I always find you in these kinds of situations?”

Relief immediately washes over him. “Yakov.” Alec shudders out a shaky breath. “Bloody hell am I glad to see you here. Listen, you’ve got to get me out there.”

“Oh? And why would I want to do that?”

“Yu’s completely nuts!”

“Nothing I’m not aware of before.” Yakov moves the light until it’s shining into Alec’s eyes. “I’m going to need something a bit more compelling than that.”

“Come on,” Alec says, squinting. “You’re not actually loyal to him, are you? How much is he paying you?”

Alec squawks indignantly when Yakov snakes a hand between the holes of his hospital gown and pinches a nipple.

“It’s very rude to ponder on people’s wages, you naughty boy.” Yakov’s hand starts from the top of his thigh and strokes its way down. “He’s paying me more than you are right now, but that could easily be remedied.”

Yakov moves the stirrups apart, until he’s standing between Alec’s legs. He brings out—a string connecting a set of six beads, increasing in size. There’s a loop at the end, where Yakov currently has his index finger hooked through. Alec has no illusions on where those beads will end up soon. Yakov’s other hand are having the time of their life roaming on Alec’s inner thigh.

His throat bobs up and down. He swipes his tongue on his upper lip.

“You do not have to worry,” Yakov says. “I will get you out. But first, you will have to make it worth my while, yes?”

* * *

  
Yassen rapidly clicks and unclicks the pen against his office desk. “I haven’t had Alex to myself since John interrupted our dinner,” Yassen says. “I’m…” He sighs. “I’m not at my best.”

* * *

Immune to the tense environment around the studio, possibly due to the obscene noises he and Wolf were making in the studio closet half an hour ago, Smither knocks on the door of Yassen’s office.

Yassen peels his eyes away from his laptop screen, albeit a bit morosely. There are no documents pulled up. There is only a wallpaper, filled with the two things Yassen loves the most in the world—Alex Rider balancing a bottle of whiskey on the tip of his index finger while his tongue sticks out in concentration.

“Yes?” Yassen says.

Smithers pops his head through the door. “Sorry to bother you, but the coffee machine’s misbehaving again.”

“Ah, yes,” Yassen says. “I will deal with it.”

Normally, Yassen would find tinkering with the coffee machine a nice break from his usual routine. But now, hunched under coffee machine, is the unfortunate moment where Yassen’s phone pings with a message from Alex.

_Gone to grandparents with mum to do John-related damage control. Rain-check for tonight?_

The next message is filled with umbrella emojis and kissy face emojis.

The camera zooms in as the phone casts a blue light on Yassen’s impassive face.

Footage cuts to a handheld shooting from the parking lot. Yassen carries the chunky coffee machine over his shoulder, the cable trailing behind him. He lifts the lid of the dumpster and slams the coffee machine in, patting his hands once he’s done.

* * *

Cloaked by the cover of the night, Ian dives into the dumpster and recovers what’s left of the coffee machine.

* * *

Yassen frowns. “He told me he ended up watching the Detective Pikachu movie with John instead,” he mutters. “We were going to watch the movie together. John is nothing but a blight on to this world.”

Yassen’s cursor lingers on his wallpaper once more. He sighs.

Suddenly, his phone rings. “Hello,” Yassen answers. “Yes. No, he’s not here.” Yassen laughs bitterly. “She cancelled on you too, huh. He has that effect on people.”

A moment where Yassen’s eyebrow rises higher and higher. But then, Yassen sits up. After a whole week of jumping between a state of moping and frustrated anger, he finally smiles.

“Yes, I’m free tonight,” he says. “I’ll be right there. I will see you soon, Julia.”

* * *

[An excerpt of _Crocodick Tears (2020)_ where Alec Walker returns in stopping a megalomaniac named Desmond McCain, played by Yassen Gregorovich, from committing biological warfare.]

Rope criss-crosses Alec Walker’s body as he hangs upside down, one thigh folded and one thigh pointing up into the sky. Knots dot down his chest, hips, shoulders, and thighs. The rope makes perfect dents on Alec’s toned, golden skin. A personalised dress weaved from rope.

McCain walks into the room. In his hand, a green dildo. A ribbed, dark-green, vibrating dildo, three-inches in girth, and lovingly nicknamed _The Crocodick._

* * *

> From: [j.rothman@scorpia.com](mailto:j.rothman@scorpia.com)
> 
> To: [john_rider@hotmail.com](mailto:john_rider@hotmail.com), [yassen@ferdelance.com](mailto:yassen@ferdelance.com)
> 
> _John,_
> 
> _Heard you were in town. Why don’t we take the time to get reacquainted? Gregorovich is willing. For old time’s sake? Details attached below._
> 
> _Hoping to see you there xxx._
> 
> _— Julia_

* * *

This time, it is John who Yassen meets outside his house in a fluffy bathrobe. It is John who is led into Yassen’s bedroom, John who gets to watch Yassen slip his robe off his shoulders, and John who gets to whistle as Julia strides out from the bathroom in her black leather corset and six-inch heels, hair cascading down her shoulders.

Yassen and Julia are a study in contrast. Yassen’s hard lines stand stark against Julia’s ample curves. He has where she has none, trailing down his toned belly. Where Julia is clothed, Yassen isn’t, with the exception of his tight boxer briefs and the collar around his neck.

She pats the riding crop in her hands. A slim eyebrow arches up as she asks, “Well?”

John couldn’t get out of his clothes fast enough. He slips off the blazer with ‘ _Ian Rider’_ scrawled on the tag and begins working on his shirt. Mid-way, he almost trips over his pants. Yassen is kind enough to help him, unbuttoning John’s pants with heavy lidded eyes. He sits on the bed, clad only in his boxers, as Julia trails up her crop up one leg, while Yassen slowly runs his tongue up the other.

The crop finds its way up his chest. It circles one nipple and then the other.

Julia taps the crop against his pec. “Hands on the headboard.”

Obediently, John clutches the railing with his fists.

A sharp smile forms on Julia’s face. “Now, Yas.”

In a blink of a second, his previous meek gait is gone. Yassen’s heavy weight straddles over John’s body as he cuffs John’s hands to the railing, before he could blink.

“Wait,” John says. “What’s—wait!”

Yassen already has one leg cuffed to the post when John starts buckling under Yassen and kicking out his lone leg. Julia dives on to the bed and holds his shins down just as Yassen manages to catch John’s ankle.

“This is against my human rights!” John shouts. “I do not consent. Do you hear me? I do not consent!”

Julia brings the crop down on his foot.

_“Ow!”_

She tosses her hair over her shoulder and combs the stray fringes out of her face. “There’s more of that if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” she says, waving the crop threateningly.

“Sound-proof,” Yassen says, before John could protest, as he grabs two flasks of whiskey from his bedside and hands one to Julia. 

“What about those guys!” John snaps his head at the production crew.

“Under contract not to interfere with the subject of their documentaries,” Julia says.

It doesn’t help that John ate most of the production crew’s triple-chocolate, molten fudge brownies—a gift from Helen for the last time she snuck into Yassen’s studio.

Yassen shakes his head. “They won’t help you.”

“Then I’ll just keep on screaming then!” John bares his teeth. “I saw your walls, Yas. There’s no way they’re thick enough to be soundproof. You’re pulling this [beep] out of your ass.”

Julia lifts her crops again as John starts shouting lyrics to a Nevada song while tugging against his restraints hard enough for the headboard to rattle. Yassen doesn’t give John the chance to wear his patience thin.

Yassen grabs a knife from his bedside drawer.

The knife pierces the spot a centimetre below John’s crotch.

John’s shriek almost breaks the production crew’s camera lens. “What the [beep] [beep] absolute living [beep]!”

Yassen leans over menacingly. “Keep that noise up and I won’t miss next time.”

“You [beep] wouldn’t.”

Julia smirks. “You should ask Sharkovsky if he would. I wonder where he is… Oh, wait!”

This time, Yassen is the one who bares his teeth.

Kicking out his legs, John squawks again. “What kind of maniac keeps a knife by bedside!”

“A maniac who hasn’t watched Detective Pikachu with his boyfriend because the father who’s been extorting him for money has come into town,” Yassen mutters. 

“Why you are you here?” Julia demands. “Why haven’t you crawled back to the dark hole you came from? What do you do with all the money Helen and Alex sends you?”

John throws a glare at her. “I’m just visiting my family. Nothing wrong about that.”

“Not good enough.”

Julia strikes for the inner thigh this time, and Yassen holds his flask out in a salute as he walks to his lounger.

“Why is it any of your business what I do with my money?”

“Your _family’s_ money,” Yassen corrects.

“Yes,” John says. “ _My_ family. Bound by blood and dissolved matrimony.”

“Fine,” Julia says. “You don’t have to tell us what you do with the money for us to teach you not to bother Helen or Alex ever again.”

Three successive strikes, trailing their way closer and closer to John’s crotch, now pixelated due to its tented shape. John shakes and shudders in his restraints, amidst his yowls.

Which—the camera crew accepts as a sign that they should take their leave. A unanimous agreement, just as they all agree that Julia Rothman makes a firm and _terrifying_ domme in her own right.

Yassen waves goodbye as the production crew passes by.

“And let’s get one thing clear.” Julia leans over just so that she could sneer at him. “The famed Rider ass? Alex never got it from you.”

_Smack!_

John’s howl of pain is stifled as the camera crew closes the door behind them.

* * *

Alex yawns into the camera. “So, I woke up and all of John’s things were gone,” he says, as he scratches his stomach. “His clothes are gone, his shoes, his car… I flicked mum a text but apparently, he’s not bugging her either. He’s probably ditched again. Good. I’m absolutely beat.”

The screen on Alex’s phone lights up and Alex squints at the screen. He brightens up and a smile breaks out on his face.

“And now Yassen’s just texted me that he has a new bed to break in,” Alex says. “That’s my afternoon made. Hope he still has the headboard, though, I’ve gotten really attached to my cuffs.”

* * *

Alex throws himself into Yassen’s arms the minute Yassen opens the door.

“Hmm,” Alex says, burying his face into the crook of his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

Even though Yassen doesn’t reply, the way Yassen closes his eyes and noses the tuft of blonde hair shows that the feeling is very much mutual.

Yassen shuts the door with his feet. Slowly, he starts waddling their huddled from through the hallway, dodging the sharp juts of his furniture and finally landing backwards on to his new bed.

“Oof,” Alex says, as they both bounce on the mattress. He lifts his head. “Ooh. Is this the new bed? Is it nicer?”

Alex could probably decide for himself, if Yassen lets him roll over. But that would mean letting Alex go, and Yassen has no plans on doing that.

“I like it,” Yassen says.

“What’s wrong with the old one?” Alex asks. “Did it suddenly break?”

“A…” Yassen tilts his head. “… spring came out. It became too sharp to sleep on. It was an old mattress anyway—I was due for a new one.”

Snuggling into Yassen’s chest, Alex says, “Shame. We had a lot of good memories on that mattress.”

“Indeed.”

Alex’s head pops up. “Yassen.”

Yassen strokes his Alex’s back idly, satisfied and content. “Hmm?”

“Was John the mentor you were talking about at the restaurant?”

Yassen freezes, and in the next second, Yassen has flipped them over until he’s pinning Alex down by their hips.

“Woah!”

“That bastard,” Yassen hisses. “What did he say?”

“Nothing too bad!” Alex strokes his palms up Yassen’s arms. Like coaxing a wild animal down from snapping someone’s neck. “Just—how you were when you were younger. How you followed him around like a hapless puppy.”

Yassen breaks into some Russian that the production crew definitely does not feel the need to put a subtitle on. He mutters as he swears. “Should’ve cut his [beep] off when I had the chance.”

“What?” Alex asks.

“What,” Yassen says.

“When did you ever have the chance?” Alex asks incredulously. “Is that why he left?”

Yassen’s face instantly curls and widens into something innocuous and innocent.

“Yassen.” Carefully, Alex takes Yassen’s face into his hands. “It doesn’t matter if he said anything anyway.” Alex clears his throat. “I would still… regard you very highly… as a—well no, not as a friend—”

Alex flushes red under her him. Slowly, but surely, Yassen relaxes, letting himself sink back into complacency.

“Not as a friend?” Yassen asks, amused. He palms Alex’s heated cheeks and tweaks his rounded nose. “Alex, you are heating up hotter than a summer in Krasnodar.”

“Am not!” Alex squirms and bats Yassen’s hands away from his face. “I just… I’m thinking for a moment!”

“A rare occasion indeed.”

“Shush! No sass from you, old man.”

Yassen laughs—a hearty laugh that sends rumbles down Alex’s chest.

“I was just… thinking about how I like being around you,” Alex says, gathering his courage. “Like, all the time, even when we’re mad at each other. All this time, I thought it was because we were just really good close friends—”

Yassen takes the opportunity to resettle his hips until it slots right on top of Alex’s in a very platonic, friendly manner.

The longer Alex talks the more his words gain speed. “—And I realised that I’ve never really felt this way before. About anyone, really. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I don’t want it to stop. Like, ever. If you don’t mind me sticking around for the future. I probably won’t leave even if you ask me to. I think I love you—wait. Did I just [beep] propose to you? Holy [beep], I didn’t mean to do that—”

Yassen laughs again, and this time it’s bubbly and light. “Alex,” he says. “Alex, slow down. I love you too. I was ready for us to wait until we got married for you to realise that. I’m glad it is much sooner than I thought.”

“Now, hold on.”

“I’m already holding you,” Yassen tells him cheekily.

Alex bats at his arm again. “You couldn’t have just told me, you [beep]?”

“It’s better for you to figure it out yourself.” Yassen’s hands start creeping under Alex’s shirt. “All I could do was wear my heart on my sleeves as I wait… maybe work on slipping the sleeves off your body too while I’m at it.”

The production crew is sorely reminded of all the times Yassen has, indeed, slipped Alex’s sleeves off his body, in front of _Fer de Lance’s_ camera and in front of theirs.

“Oh,” Alex says, melting into Yassen’s hold. “Alright. I guess I can’t argue with that.” He reaches up and kisses Yassen again and again. “I love you.”

Yassen smooshes their nose together and smiles. “I love you too, Alex.”

As the kisses grow bolder and bolder, the camera crew take their leave. This time, instead of the shrieking howls of pain, the door closes to the sounds of quiet kissing, and the camera crew prefers it this way.

* * *

[An excerpt of _Scorpianal Coming (2020)_ where Alex Rider reprises his role as boy spy Alec Walker finally retiring from his spying career.]

As the boarding call for his flight to San Francisco is announced, Alec sits on the bench, ass sore, body blue, and heart broken. After taking on Razim and Julius, and then both at once, and facing the reality with Jack—

Alec is ready to move on. It is his time to put his old life behind.

Edward Pleasure is now his legal guardian. He left Alec for the loo just a minute ago, so Alec doesn’t blink, when someone takes the seat beside him.

“That was quick. Thought you might’ve gotten flushed all the way to San Francisco.”

“Not the way I would have wanted to get there,” Yakov says. “But I am fond of their cable cars.”

Alec freezes, and before he could reach into his bag for a weapon, Yakov squeezes his knee. “I am not here to fight,” he says.

Hesitating, Alec loosens his fist. “Then what are you here for?”

“I heard that a colleague of mine has retired from the field.”

A bitter laugh escapes from him. “I am never going back there. Ever.”

“So you shouldn’t,” Yakov agrees. “You should come with me instead.”

Shock crosses his features. “What?” Alec asks, peering at him from the side of his eye. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Yakov blends in with the other travellers—if you weren’t paying attention. Him, his blue pants, his neutral shade of brown polo and his dark maroon travelling bag. He could even be mistaken as a tourist, if Alec wasn’t so familiar with the sharp lethality that he naturally exudes.

“I am serious, Alec,” Yakov says. “If you come with me, MI6 will never find you.”

“It’s… tempting. But I still don’t know what you want from me.”

“That’s simple.”

Yakov tips his chin up.

In all their times together, in all their explicit encounters, Yakov has never—he has never kissed Alec on the mouth before. But that is what Yakov does. And he is thorough, and slow, and gentle. Alec had never expected their first kiss to be more tender than anything Alec has ever known.

When their lips finally part, Yakov says, “Your friend will be here soon. Are you coming?”

He pats Alec’s knee twice. Then, he stands from his seat.

It only takes a second of waiting before Alec finally swings his bag around his shoulder and follows.

* * *

[A postscript written with white letters on a black screen.]

The Alec Walker series was a mainstream success. Soon, it was adapted for network television and rewritten for a more general audience. Yassen was brought on as the artistic director. Alex declined the lead role, opting to focus on his studies while supporting Yassen off-screen.

Yassen was nominated for a BAFTA, and he brought the whole Rider family with him, along with Helen’s new wife, Julia Rothman.

Many tears were shed. Although, Ian Rider could not comment as he was too busy stuffing canapes down his suit jacket and smuggling champagne glasses into Helen’s bag.

Yassen and Alex got married on the seventh anniversary of the Alec Walker series. Their ‘friendship ceremony’ was the talk of British tabloids for the next six months. 

John Rider was never heard from again.


End file.
